


Sick Fic

by Strength_in_pain



Series: John and his boys [27]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Character, Sick Sam Winchester, Tired Sam Winchester, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, good big brother dean Winchester, grossed out Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 09:25:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17383955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strength_in_pain/pseuds/Strength_in_pain
Summary: Dean takes care of a really sick Sam. But he needs his dad to help once Sam passes out.





	Sick Fic

> **Baymont Motel, Meridian, Mississippi. 1991.**
> 
> **Sam 8 Dean 12.**

 

“Sooorrryyy.” Dean grinned from ear-to-ear as he slid his blue pawn across the yellow arrow, smashing directly into Sam’s green pawn. 

 

Sam groaned, “you suck.” He muttered, collecting his green guy up and putting him back in start. 

 

The game Sorry was always a fun game to play because Dean couldn’t cheat. And because no real amount of skill was required, Sam had an equal chance of winning. Unlike any card game, where Dean out-topped Sam every time or checkers where Dean cheated every time; random games were definitely Sam’s favorite type of game. So it really pissed him off that Dean was winning right now. 

 

“Are you sure you didn’t rearrange the deck before we played?” Sam asked, picking up the glass of water that lay on the hardwood motel floor. He took a slow sip, wincing as the liquid burned his throat. 

 

Dean was going on about how he’s just freaking amazing, and Sam can’t compete with his awesomeness. 

 

“So you did rearrange the cards?”

 

“Bite me, Sammy.” 

 

Sam stood up from this place on the floor. His stomach was sore from laying for so long. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

 

“Thanks for sharing.” Dean said. _He always has something to say_ , Sam thought miserably. He was in a weird mood and he couldn’t understand why. Normally, he could tolerate Dean’s general annoyingness. That was a part of his brother that Sam has learned to love and accept. But today he was feeling so bitter and plain miserable. 

 

“Don’t move any pawn’s while I’m gone.” Sam ordered. As he shut the bathroom door, he vaguely heard his older brother move stuff around. 

 

Dean was sitting propped up against the couch, beat-up converse shoes shoved under his backside. He was contemplating on his next move, checking through the cards to see if he should slip a 2 card under the 5 that Sam won’t be able to use, or a backwards 4 card so he can get a guy closer to home. 

 

He decided on the 2 card because he could draw again, and was now waiting patiently for his brother to return. After a while, Dean glanced down at his wrist watch to see how long he was waiting. Five minutes had passed, and Sam was still in the bathroom. Impatiently, Dean stood up and paced. 

 

He stopped outside the bathroom door, knocking roughly, “Sam? You okay in there?” He pressed his ear against the door. 

 

“Not really.” Sam almost cried.

 

Panic rushed through Dean’s veins, his blood was pumping fast. _God, what sick, twisted creature decides to wait in the bathroom and  attack someone while they’re peeing!_

 

“I’m coming in.” Dean declared. He used the strength from his father’s training to kick the door down. 

 

“DEAN!” Sam shrieked, “What the hell?” His voice was so high pitched he sounded like a little girl. Normally, Dean would make fun of him for it, but he was willing to make an exception tonight because Sam was in trouble. Although, it wasn’t the type of trouble Dean thought. Sam was hunched over the toilet. A putrid smell washed over Dean’s sensitive nose and he shivered, gagging reflexively. 

 

“Sorry.” Sam whispered. He closed his eyes, clutching his stomach. 

 

“Oh Sammy.” he said real quiet, “You should lie down.” Sam gaged harshly, and heaved forward surprising Dean. It was gross, watching his brother puke, but Dean did what any good big brother would do. He crouched down next to him and patted his back. 

 

Sam hyperventilated a little, tears flooding his eyes. Another gag sent him coughing and retching into the toilet. 

 

“Whoa, okay. I’ve gotcha, Sammy. Calm down.” Dean ordered, plopping his butt next to his little brother on the bathroom floor. 

 

“Dean, I don’t feel good.” Sam said, holding on to the toilet bowl. 

 

Dean snorted, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” 

 

“Shuddup.” Sam managed a brief smile before his stomach gave a sharp churn. Sam whimpered in agony, “I’m so hot.”

 

“I don’t know about that.” Dean quipped, “I mean, you’re not looking so good right now.” He wanted to lighten the mood a little. When situations scare him, Dean typically throws a joke into the mix. It distracts from the bad stuff for a while and Dean can pretend everything’s fine. 

 

“Not funny.” Sam whined. 

 

“Okay. Let me get your shirt off, that will cool you down some.” 

 

Sam whimpered, lifting his arms and Dean pulled off the sweaty flannel shirt. Sam bent forward and shivered as the cold air touched his hot skin. Gripping the rim of the toilet in on hand, he held his sticky forehead in the other, trying to ride out the nausea. His breathing was coming in mostly small gasps. 

 

“Jeez, Sammy, what happened? You were fine a few minutes ago weren’t you?” 

 

“No. My throat hurt when I woke up.” He coughed a little, “and my stomach’s been killing me.” 

 

“Well why didn’t you say something?”

 

“You wouldn’t have.” Sam countered, his legs going weak as he stood up. He faltered a bit, and Dean was immediately there to catch him. 

 

“Whoa. Easy, Sammy.” He said as Sam regained his balance. 

 

He was holding onto Dean now, his arms thrown over the older boy’s shoulders. 

 

“How about we go lay on the couch, Yeah?” Dean asked. The kid nodded and rubbed at his puffy eyes. 

 

Dean ignored the smell of vomit from his younger brother’s breath as he basically carried him to the couch. Once he put Sam down, Dean fetched a water bottle and a blanket. 

 

“I think Dad has the thermometer in his duffle, so it’s not here. But I’m guessing you have a fever.” Dean said, sitting next to his brother, reaching out to feel his forehead. Sam snorted. It was weird to see Dean so caring. Not that his older brother didn’t care about him, because he obviously did. But ever since Dean turned 12, he considered himself too old to be cuddled and thus, he was too old to give hugs. He spent more time these days trying to piss Sam off rather than showing any affection.

 

“I’m hot and cold.” Sam shivered and Dean rubbed his arm. 

 

“Your fever’s probably pretty high,” he said softly, “Do you want a cool towel? That might help?” 

 

“Please.” Sam whispered. He was looking really pale and sickly. Dean returned a few seconds later with a damp washcloth that he’d rung out in the sink. As Dean put the damp cloth on Sam’s forehead, Sam shivered, trying to relax into the cool feeling. 

 

Dean heard Sam’s stomach gurgle harshly and he realized a minute too late that he should have grabbed a trash can or something. Out of nowhere it seemed, Sam lurched forward and gaged, spewing puke all over the couch and blanket. 

 

Dean scrunched his face in disgust, and Sam cried harder when he realized his brother was grossed out by him. 

 

“I hate this!” Sam screamed. Tears were rolling down his cheeks as he took in big gasps of air. 

 

“No, don’t panic, Sammy. It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

 

Sam was already hyperventilating though, and choking in the process. 

 

“Make it stop.” He choked out and gaged a little which made him cry more. He started sucking in more air and his stomach really didn’t need any more of it. 

 

“Sam!” Dean yelled trying to get his brother’s attention. “ _Sam_. SAMMY.” He gripped his shoulders and shook. “Calm down. You’re panicking.”

 

This time Sam seemed to understand, especially since Dean is scary when he yells. So he tried to slow his breathing, but it was hard.

 

Dean stroked his sweaty bangs out of his face while squeezing his hand for comfort. “Shh.” He whispered while Sam sat there sniffling and whimpering like a beaten dog. “You’re okay, shhh. I know it’s hard and it sucks, I know. But your only making it worse by panicking.” 

 

It was then, in that very moment, that Sam realized just how mature Dean was for his age. His second thought was how lucky he was to have Dean by his side since his father was away. His third thought was how angry he suddenly was at his Dad. 

 

“I want Dad.” He whined, despite Dean being the most perfect and awesome big brother in the world, he wanted Dad. He wanted Dad to make the really hot chili soup that burned his lips. He wanted Dad to sit by his bedside. He wanted to yell at his Dad for not being there, but honestly, if he walked through the door, Sam would throw himself in his big, strong, muscular arms and soak in his whiskey scent shirt. 

 

But Dad wasn’t walking through that door any time soon. In the mean time, Sam’s stomach whirled with uneasiness. As if it didn’t already hurt enough, he’d just made it worse by crying. Sam whimpered feeling an extreme amount of dizziness wash over him. Leaning over the side of the couch, Sam threw up. This time, Dean was prepared with a small trash can. Sam threw up, but only a little. His vision was getting fuzzier and he felt like he might pass out. 

 

“‘m dizzy.” He muttered helplessly and fell back against the cool pillows. Through blurry vision, Sam could barely make out his big brother picking up the phone from across the room. 

 

“Pastor Jim!” He cried in a panic. “Pastor Jim, it’s an emergency. Please pick up.” 

 

Sam felt his eyes closing from the dizziness. The lightheaded feeling was taking over and Sam couldn’t see Dean anymore he could only vaguely hear him talk to Pastor Jim. Soon he couldn’t hear anything. He felt himself drift into a dream. 

 

“I want him to be okay.” Dean cried, his hands trembling against the telephone. 

 

“Sounds like he has a high fever. You need to get him cooled off. I’ll put your Daddy on the phone. Luckily, he stopped here to pick up an exorcism book.” 

 

Dean tried to wait as patiently as possible for his Dad to pick up the phone, but he wanted to strangle the man for taking his time. 

 

“Just get him cooled off.” John said. 

 

“Dad I don’t know what I’m doing.” Dean admitted, water rushing to his eyes. “I need you to come home.”

 

“Damnit Dean, I’m literally right in the middle of a hunt. I’m so close to catching this damn poltergeist.” 

 

“But Dad, I can’t do this.”

 

“Yes you can. Look, you just need to cool him off. Put him in a lukewarm bath tub. When he wakes up give him some aspirin. Make sure he drinks lots of fluid. I’ll be home as soon as I can, I promise. This hunt will be over in an hour or so. Pastor Jim and I have a plan.” 

 

“Dad.” His son’s voice was shaky. He seemed to be in a state of shock himself. 

 

“Dean, I need you to do this. Man-up.” He said firmly. He knew he was being harsh, but he needed Dean to sooth Sam’s fever. 

 

“Ok.” And now Dean was crying. Not the loud cries like babies and children do, but the quiet, suppressed cry that Dean does all the time. If it was anyone else on the phone with him, they wouldn’t even know he was crying, but John knew. John knew his boy. 

 

“I can tell Pastor Jim to come. He’s about three hours away. I think I’ll be done with this case sooner. But, I’ll tell him to come anyway.” John said. 

 

“Yes sir.” Dean was pulling himself together. John could tell by the way he sucked in a deep breath. “I’ll take care of Sammy.” 

 

“Good boy. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Maybe Elkins can finish this without me.” 

 

“No sir. I can handle it.” Dean hastily said. He was trying to prove himself to his father. 

 

John told him what to do again. He even told Dean to write it down, just in case he forgot. Then he promised to be home as soon as possible. 

 

As soon as the phone went dead, Dean got to work. He lifted Sammy up and carried him to the bathroom. Then, he put his little brother in the tub, and turned on the faucet. Dean sat with him, making sure Sam didn’t fall under. 

 

Within minutes, Sam’s eyes were fluttering open. He looked dazed, skin on his face was paler than normal against his chestnut hair. 

 

“Dean?” He croaked and Dean bit his bottom lip. 

 

“Hiya Sammy.” He whispered, “Are you in pain?” 

 

Sam nodded slightly, sniffling in the tub, wrapping his arms around his knees. “My head feels weird.”

 

“Weird how?”

 

“Fuzzy. And I feel empty but nauseous. I hate this! Please, Dean, make me feel better.” 

 

“I wish I could, kid. Believe me, I wish I could.” Dean said, brushing Sam’s bangs away from his eyes. 

 

“But you gotta tough it out. Gotta be strong, Sammy.”

 

“I don’t want to be strong.” Sam cried. He felt like he was about to blubber like a baby, and he knew if he did that, he’d throw up again. 

 

“Come on. Don’t you want to be strong like Dad?” 

 

“No. Daddy’s not here.” Sam said, tearfully. Dean knew Sam was really out of it because he was referring to John as Daddy, which is something he doesn’t do unless he’s really scared or hurt. 

 

“He’s coming home. He’ll be here soon.” Dean tried to explain. 

 

“I’ll be strong like you,” Sam said. 

 

The corner of Dean’s lips tugged up. He snorted a ‘Yeah right.’ Then he carefully went about washing Sam’s hair. Since he was in the bath, Dean figured he might as well clean him up a little. 

 

Using a plastic cup to rinse his hair out brought back so many memories of the times when Dean bathed three-year-old Sammy. 

 

When they were really little, their Dad often bathed them both at the same time and used a plastic cup to rinse their hair out. He would tell Dean to cover Sam’s eyes and he would tell Sam to do the same for Dean. Dad was really big on the whole take-care-of-each-other-thing. 

 

On the nights when John was busy discussing strategies with hunting friends, he assigned Dean the job of giving Sammy the bedtime routine. Dean remembers sitting outside the tub and playing shipwreck with Sammy for hours before his Dad would come up stairs and scold them for not being in bed already. Then of course, there were the nights that John had punished Dean. On those nights, the boy would happily choose to put Sammy to bed because he wanted to be as far away from his dad as possible. He would sit on the bathroom floor, by the tub, feeling so sore and miserable, and then Sam would reach out to him with wet hands and he would tell Dean how much he loved him. He said it in a way only a three-year-old could, by giggling and splashing water all over Dean until he cracked a smile. Believe it or not, those were some of the best nights of Dean’s life. 

 

A wet cough brought Dean back to the present moment. He carefully rested a hand on Sam’s clothed back and waited for the coughing to stop. He gently lifted Sam from the bath and dried him with a really soft, fluffy white towel. Well, it was the best one in this shitty motel room. All the other towels felt like sandpaper scraping against skin. Dean would know, he’s had three showers in this place and each night the towel would leave his skin flushed red. 

 

“Ok, let’s get you into some comfy pjs.” Dean walked out of the bathroom and went to Sam’s duffle bag. 

 

“I don’t have pjs.” Sam said. “Remember? Dad said eight is too old.” 

 

Dean scoffed, “Yeah, I remember. It’s alright. Sweats will work as good as anything. It’s probably a good thing or else I would’ve made fun of your Captain America pajamas.”

 

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious, Dean. But I seem to remember a certain Scooby-Doo phase.”

 

“Bro, Daphne’s hot. You can’t fight me on it.”

 

“She’s a cartoon.”

 

“A sexy cartoon.” 

 

Sam shook his head, smiling the best he could, but his head was aching terribly. When he tried to laugh he ended up coughing. “I can’t even laugh.” 

 

“Then don’t.” His brother said a little harshly. 

Dean handed Sam the clothes then gave his baby brother some privacy. Once Sam was done, Dean guided him to bed. 

 

A nightmare woke Sam up, leaving him drowning in sweat. He was so unsettled he was sure he was going to puke. He weakly untangled himself from the blankets. He felt really cold and miserable. His teeth chattered, as he tried to stand up, but felt too weak to move. He whimpered and teared up at how badly he felt. He noticed Dean was sleeping in a chair right next to the bed. It’s like he was watching Sam all night. That didn’t surprise the younger boy. Dean was always there for him. 

 

Still, he hated to wake his brother, especially for something as simple as helping Sam stand up. But the boy needed to take a leak. 

 

“Dean.” He whispered and was genuinely surprised when Dean snapped to attention. He thought for sure his brother wasn’t going to wake that easily. 

 

“Hey kid. How ya feeling?” Dean asked. 

 

“Bad.” It was the simple reply that made Dean wrap his arms around Sam’s torso.

 

“You’re still feeling feverish.” Dean noted. 

 

“Need help getting up.” Sam mumbled. In a matter of minutes, Sam was standing on his own, supporting his weight on Dean. 

 

“Can you walk?” Dean asked quietly. 

 

Sam nodded. But held onto Dean anyway. “Can you stay close, just Incase I fall?”

 

“Course, Sammy.” 

 

They walked together. Dean was right next to Sam, arms at his side, not touching, but ready to intervene if necessary. 

 

Once Sam made it to the bathroom he closed the door. Dean waited outside, trying not to listen. He already felt weird helping Sam to the bathroom, like his little brother might be embarrassed or something. When the door opened again, both boys walked back to the bed. 

 

“Dean?” Sam said as he climbed back under the covers, relived to feel warmth since the air was so horribly cold and his body was trembling. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Why aren’t you sleeping in your bed?” Sam asked. “It’s like two inches away from my bed. Why sit in that chair?”The hard glare from his brother made Sam want to laugh, but he couldn’t unless he wanted to cough again. 

 

“I wanted to stay awake, ok? I figured if I was sitting in a chair I’d stay awake.”

 

Sam scoffed, “You could fall asleep standing up.”

 

Shrugging, Dean sat back down on the chair and tucked his feet under his butt. He then pulled off the blanket from his bed and placed it over himself. 

 

John arrived just like he promised and walked inside to find a rather pale Dean holding a barley conscious Sam in his arms. He walked forward and peered closely at Sam. The brunette was half asleep, wrapped in two blankets, and mumbling nonsense under his breath. John gently placed his hand on Sam’s forehead. It felt significantly warmer than he thought it would. A deep concern finally set root within John’s stomach. _What if his baby was really sick._ 

 

He leaned down and patted Dean’s head. “How’s everything going, kiddo?” 

 

Dean shrugged. He had bags under his eyes and was obviously tired beyond belief. 

 

“Daddy’s here now.” John found himself whispering. He hasn’t referred to himself as ‘Daddy’ in over a year. But the whole situation brought had John thinking just how young his two sons actually were. “Go to sleep, Deano. I’ll take care of Sammy.”

 

Dean didn’t hesitate. He didn’t argue. He lethargically got off Sam’s bed and slipped into his own. 

 

John walked into the kitchen and pulled the thermometer out of the bag. Better just check to see how bad Sam’s fever was. He walked back into the room to find Sam lying flat on his stomach and watching John with curious eyes.

"Open your mouth," John ordered when he was sitting beside the bed. Sam only gave him confused look. "I said open your mouth. Now."

This time Sam obeyed and was greatly surprised when John stuffed the thermometer into it. "Hey, what are you doing? He mumbled around the glass.

"Close your mouth." John stared Sam down, causing the boy to shrink lower as if he was scared of John. “I’m taking your temperature. It’s going to tell me how sick you are.” About a minute passed before John took the thermometer out and gave it a quick glance. "You're fevers still pretty high. Are you feeling alright?"

"I have a headache. And I think there's a circus going on in my stomach. I'm gonna sue them," Sam mumbled. John chuckled. _A circus in his stomach? Where does the kid come up with this stuff?_

"Sue who?" John asked, wanting to distract his boy from any discomfort he might be having. 

"The circus in my stomach," Sam responded. "They gave me a stomach ache.” 

"You hungry?" John asked to break the uncomfortable silence that had dominated the room.

Sam only gave his head a quick shake, his face draining of the little color it had. "I...I don't think I'll be able to keep it down."

"You'll have to eat eventually," John told him. "If you throw it up I don't care. You won't know unless you try."

Sam bit his lower lip before pulling the blanket over his head, hiding from view. John sighed and rose to his feet. Sooner or later Sam was going to come out, and when that happened John was going to go ahead and feed him some soup. 

“It’s gonna be okay, now, Sammy. Daddy’s here.” John whispered rubbing his distraught son’s back. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Sam pulled himself out of the blankets and asked John to lay next to him. So he did. 

“Dean took care of me today.”

“I know, buddy. Your brother is all right for a smart ass, ain’t he?” 

Sam laughed. “I’m glad your here, Dad. I missed you. Dean was nice. He tried and all, but he didn’t know what to do.” 

John snuggled Sam to his side. “Well I’ll go make you some soup. When Dean wakes up, we can all watch a movie or something? Sound good?” 

Sam nodded. John went into the kitchen to make some food. He was banging pots and pans accidentally while Sam closed his eyes. Everyone was tired from their long day. They were all ready to go to sleep. Well, everyone except Dean. He was laying awake in his bed blinking back tears. How worthless is he that he can’t even take care of his own brother?” No matter how hard he tries he’s never going to be as good as Dad


End file.
